Time

Time is one of the most important concepts that must be considered when talking about mental health. All of us feel that time is one resource that is not used wisely, the fact is contrasted by all we must do with the time we are afforded. For those with mental health issues, it may at times seem like time moves faster not just because of the need to heal but, also time spent contemplating moments missed and the pain of the past. No man has the power to control time, but one must continue living life despite it all, regardless of the hand that fate has dealt them.

A Poem about Time:

by : Francesca Seopa

Time comes, Time goes.

Time reaps, Time sows.

Time lingers, Time outlasts.

Time destroys, Time heals

Time takes, Time gives

Fate curses, Fate blesses

Fate so fickle, Fate so shrewd.

With a smile warm and lewd.

A guide through the dark dense woods.

The thing about time is that it is neither enemy nor friend, it’s not for anything or anyone. Time roots for no particular outcome. Like water flowing out of an overturned glass, Time moves simply because the laws of nature dictate it be so. The same goes for Fate. Even though you might feel that your fate is miserable and locked in that state, honestly speaking, Fate is shaped by a person’s thoughts and time. Empires have risen and fallen, kings crowned and dethroned. People are born and they die, sometime ghastly quick deaths, most of the time a slow agonizing death after a life of highs and lows. The point here is that one must not hold onto the feeling of time slipping away, not to overvalue or overthink what fate has accorded them. If anything, time must be spent living whatever life one wants and as for fate, whatever you do what will happen will happen. Life has ups and downs and no one can control what happens to them. People have the power of choice, they have the power to empower themselves despite what Life throws at them. The power of their choices will dictate their Fate. This is why it is so important for people to work towards healing, empowering themselves and understanding that they are worthy despite what they went through.

It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.

– William Shakespeare

Thank you for being with me.

So, I close my eyes to old ends and open my heart to new beginnings.

– Nick Frederickson

I look forward to seeing you here. Let us rebuild a healthy state of Mind.

Warmly, Francesca.

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You’re Not the Only One (And That’s a Good Thing)

Don’t you think that you need somebody?
Don’t you think that you need someone?
Everybody needs somebody
You’re not the only one

Guns N’ Roses – November Rain

Loneliness – the dreadful, gnawing sense of abandonment and despair that comes from knowing that no one in the world suffers as you do – can be devastating. Worse still, you often feel as though you deserve it, because you’re somehow less than other people – less capable, less valid, less … human.

I used to feel this way a lot. I still do, sometimes, although as I’ve gotten older and weathered the storms of depression I’ve learned that even despair passes with time, and that even the loneliest among us aren’t really alone. It doesn’t change the feeling itself – in the moment, when the black closes in around you, you know beyond any doubt that you are utterly, completely alone.

It isn’t true, though. Not really.

Humans, by nature, need companionship. We crave it. We want it with every fiber of our being, and yet … sometimes we reject it. Sometimes, even when a friend comes knocking, we fail to answer the door. When a hand reaches out in the dark, we see it – and turn the other way.

Many of us … struggle with feeling valid. [But] it’s possible to be wrong.

I used to wonder about this. I used to think that loneliness could be a kind of strength, a measure of how deep my depression ran. That, somehow, being alone meant I was validated in my despair, that it was … okay, I guess, to feel so miserable. And I would see overtures from friends and family, and I would actively push them away, driving them off like rats with a stick.

I used to wonder why I was like this. Why on earth did I reject others’ attempts to help me? Why did I want to be alone?

The answer, I believe, lies in the belief of self-worth. Many of us, especially here on this blog, struggle with feeling valid, with believing that we’re worth something. Something deep inside triggers us into feeling that, no matter what, we don’t deserve the love of friends, family, colleagues … that, simply put, we aren’t worth the effort.

I know this feeling all too well. It once was bad enough that I remember thinking that I was punishing the world simply by being alive – that the air I was breathing would be better suited to someone else. I wanted to die, not only because of the depth of my misery, but because it somehow felt that it would be fairer to those around me to just not have to worry about me anymore.

But here’s what I’ve learned over the years. What you feel doesn’t change how others feel. Your beliefs don’t affect those of the people around you. And it’s possible to be wrong.

You see, from the moment you’re born to the moment you die, there are people who care about you. And the don’t care because they must – they care because they want to. There are, of course, varying levels of care, based on the feelings of sadness and hurt when you suffer, but there are so many, many more people in the world that care about you than you know.

Because every single word you utter, every sentence you type, every glance you give, affects the people you know – and sometimes the people you don’t. I don’t know you – we’ve never met – but I care. James here at The Bipolar Writer cares – for crying out loud, he’s even offered his phone number publicly! And believe me that the people who do know you care even more.

I attended a funeral last year for a friend of mine. If I’m honest (I hope he forgives me), he was no one special. He didn’t write books; he didn’t make movies. He wasn’t famous. Sometimes he was depressed; sometimes he didn’t want to carry on, especially towards the end. But he did; he powered through his cancer until the bitter end, because he wasn’t alone. And nowhere was this more evident than at the outpouring of love at his funeral. Yes, there were tears – but more than that, there were laughs, and good memories, and a sense of companionship between the rest of us who live: brought together by one person.

So what I’m trying to say here is simple: you’re not the only one to suffer. And you aren’t alone in your suffering. Every one of us here at The Bipolar Writer has, in one fashion or another, been in your shoes; we know what it’s like. We care. So do many. And the community James has built here should help you understand this simple idea:

You aren’t alone.